


The Peter Pan Complex

by ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers/pseuds/ShakespeareanHoneyBadgers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Gold knows something's up when his estranged son Rumford starts showing up regularly and narrows it down to his attractive new maid Isabelle French, who seems to share the sentiment. He then takes it upon himself to do whatever he can to help the budding romance along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngloAnon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngloAnon/gifts).



"Two visits in one week? To what do I owe this honor?"

"I just keep hoping the next time I come over I’ll get the good news of your passing."

"And I keep hoping you’ll actually make something of yourself but we can’t all get what we want."

Mr. Rumford Gold _loathed_ visiting his father, a man who had “raised” him in the loosest sense of the term. Rumford had spent more time with the elderly spinsters next door than his father, who had been an alcoholic and a nymphomaniac. Malcolm Gold was the face of the popular children’s show “Peter Pan and Friends”, though the fact he was a grown man surrounded by puppets had always disturbed Rumford. But it was the reason he had a sprawling mansion, more money than he knew what to do with, and the best PR agent on the planet.

They were sitting out on the veranda, overlooking the pool and tennis court that Malcolm never seemed to use, only having to impress guests. The gardeners were trimming the hedges that made up the boundaries of the estate, a sort of high-class demand for privacy without bothering with a “keep out!” sign.

"Honestly though, Rummy, I’m suspicious," Malcolm said, taking a long drink, "Didn’t give me the time of day for decades…"

"Only seemed fair, considering you didn’t give me the time of day until I was at least out of college."

"Kids are hell to raise," he complained, "Don’t get me wrong, they’re fine for a few hours but being stuck with them nonstop…" He elbowed Rumford, "When are you going to give me grandkids, eh? I’m not getting any younger."

"Isn’t Pan supposed to be immortal?" Rumford muttered, wishing he had taken him up on his offer for a drink.

"Pan’s a character, and characters don’t have to deal with bum livers and a questionable ticker." He set his empty glass down, "You got somethin’ wrong with your swimmers?"

Of all the times she could have come up, she had to come up just then.

Isabelle French tried to inconspicuously refill her employer’s drink, her blue eyes darting up in attempts to catch Rumford’s. Rumford had tried to spare her by ignoring her, but Malcolm glanced up anyway.

"There she is… Like fucking clockwork!"

Rumford winced with Isabelle as his father grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer, “You ever seen anything like this? She just pops up whenever I need something, like a genie! How does she _know_?”

Rumford and Isabelle exchanged a glance. He didn’t know what his father paid her in order to keep her as a live-in maid, but it wasn’t enough. The skirt length was getting shorter and shorter, her neckline descending to a nearly immodest low. It was summer, but that was hardly an excuse.

"Is there anything I can get for you Mr. Gold…the second?" She added, her head tilting to the side. His thoughts went dangerously close to a dark place.

"…just water, thank you."

Malcolm glanced between the two of them quizzically, giving Isabelle enough leeway to slip from his grasp and walk away. The older Gold was puzzled for a moment longer…then his lips pursed into an “oh” shape. A show giggle slipped out.

"I see what’s going on now, what changed your mind about seeing your pops."

Rumford’s heart pounded, “What are you talking about?”

"You’ve got a crush on the help, laddie," Malcolm insisted, "And I can’t blame you. You know…" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "She does look rather…fertile."

Rumford considered throwing up, “…I should probably go now.”


	2. True, He's No Prince Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle confides in her friend about her job as Malcolm’s live-in maid and arrives home to a proposition.

"Dishwasher. Janitor. CNA, for god’s sake _anything_ would be better than having to clean up after _that_ wash-up.”

Isabelle sighed, idly playing with the sleeve on her coffee cup. Maybe meeting Ruby on her rare free afternoon had been a bad idea… But Isabelle hadn’t had many friends growing up, and fate had crossed her path with Ruby Lucas’. A New Yorker wanting to make it to the silver screen, she had found a job as a waitress to help pay the bills while she waited for her big break.

Ruby took her silence as leeway to continue, sipping almost viciously at her iced mocha, “You’re too smart for this. You should be in school, getting a degree for… What kind of degree would you need to be a film researcher?”

"Bachelor’s," Isabelle supplied promptly.

"Any university would be stupid to not give you a scholarship," Ruby decided.

"It’s not about scholarships," she sipped at her coffee, "…I still have to pay off my father’s debts."

It was a low blow, bringing her father into this…but it did bring the conversation to a complete stop.

"Besides, it’s not so bad," she insisted, "He hasn’t hit on me in awhile at least."

"Jesus Christ, Isabelle, listen to yourself," Ruby leaned back, "Give me one benefit, one, that justifies what you have to deal with."

Isabelle’s mind automatically pulled up an image of the younger Mr. Gold, the one with brown eyes and a clean shaven face. The serious one, his father’s foil in nearly every way.

Ruby, as attuned to a good story as a reporter, leaned back forward, “What? What is it? If it was money that would’ve been the first thing out of your mouth.”

Isabelle bit her lip, “It’s a bit ridiculous…”

"I work in L.A.; I think I can handle ridiculous."

Her eyes trailed down to the cup sleeve again, slowly moving it up and down, “He has a son that comes over… It used to just be on Tuesdays but now it’s biweekly.”

Ruby’s jaw dropped as she gave a startled laugh, “No way. That’s why you’re staying there? You want to fuck Peter Pan’s Lost Boy?!”

Half the Starbucks shop was looking over at them now and Isabelle covered her face.

"You make it sound so vulgar," she hissed.

"And what, you just want to go to the movies with him, maybe let him kiss you when he drops you back off at his dad’s?" Ruby wrinkled her nose, "I can’t imagine Malcolm Gold having a hot son."

"It’s more than his looks," Isabelle protested, "He’s…well read and articulate… He’s courteous and listens, really listens when you speak… And there’s something in his gestures, his eyes…something so…gentle."

Ruby shook her head, “That’s a special kind of crazy, working for the senior to get to the junior.”

"You asked me for a reason why I stay," Isabelle pointed out, "That’s my answer.

The other woman sighed, making slurping noises as she tried to suck up the last drops of her drink, “Well, I hope he’s worth it.”

Isabelle was sure he was.

She made it back home a little later than she had been planning; Malcolm would have been left to his own devices for a few hours and that could mean the entire estate was burned to the ground. Really being Malcolm’s maid was more a matter of being his mother; he was a giant kid. But a giant kid with a driver’s license, alcoholism, and a fondness for pyrotechnics.

Maybe at first she had thought about quitting but after she slapped him for coming on to her he seemed to have a sort of respect for her. Well, at least enough respect to keep his hands from wandering and to give her days off.

At least she thought she had gained some respect, until she saw the “gifts” he had left on her bed.

Malcolm was in the middle of raiding the fridge for munchies when he heard heels clicking against the floor. Since he didn’t remember inviting any lady friends over, he could only assume Isabelle was back from her girl time.

"Izzy I thought I told you to get-" He closed the door to find her aiming Belara Eau de Parfume at him.

"I didn’t check if this was tested on animals; either way I’m sure it’s not meant to go into one’s eyes," she hissed.

He held up his hands and took a couple steps back, “Safe to say you don’t like your gifts?”

"You got me perfume, lingerie, dresses of questionable length and neckline, and packages that I am terrified of opening due to the company on the label," she shook the bottle and Malcolm flinched, "I thought we had an understanding!"

"About gifts?" Malcolm shook his head in disbelief, "Christ, what woman doesn’t like presents?!"

"These are very particular presents that are _extremely_ inappropriate for a boss to get for his employee!” She put her free hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows, “I want to know why you got them.”

Malcolm, fearful of getting an eyeful of misty fragrance, hemmed and hawwed and chose his answer carefully, “I just noticed that lately you’ve been opting to wear more… _revealing_ outfits.”

Isabelle’s heart caught in her throat, “More revealing outfits?”

"I’m not saying you look like a tart, just that it appears that you’re dressing in a certain attention-attracting fashion as though you were trying to give some bloke a signal to ask you out."

Isabelle lowered her impromptu mace, “It’s that obvious.”

Malcolm smirked, squeezing his shoulders in and jutting his chest out. He waggled it as though he had invisible breasts, speaking in a breathless falsetto, “Is there anything I can get for you Mr. Gold?”

Isabelle squirted an irritated puff towards him and he giggled.

"I just thought you could use some help, since the boy’s as dense as a concrete wall."

"And why would you want to help?"

Malcolm shrugged, “Because I want grandkids and you’re the first woman he’s looked twice at since his high school sweetheart.” Isabelle grimaced and Malcolm was quick to defend himself, “All I’m doing is helping along what you’re already so keen on; the worst you can accuse me of is exploitation.” He waved his hand, “Return the gifts if you want; I will butt out of your love life completely if that is what you wish. I cannot force two people to be together if they don’t want, and I can sit by the sidelines as you two eyefuck each other over afternoon drinks if that’s how you want to proceed. Be my guest if you prefer this “pining from afar” business. But if you want a little help from a man who knows your target better than he knows himself…”

Isabelle hesitated. She should return the gifts… This was inappropriate at the very least, illegal at the worst. She should take a stand and make her employer know that no one decided her fate but her and she would not sleep with his son on command like a high-end prostitute.

She sighed, turning to leave, “I’m not sure I want to know how you know all my sizes…”

"Ignorance is bliss, Izzy."


	3. Summertime Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle begins her seduction of Gold Junior while Gold Senior confides in a woman of the cloth.

Rumford remembered his romantic awakening acutely. He had been eight years old marveling at Neverland’s set, one of the original Lost Boys before he grew up and realized he hated the show. He had just stepped over to the Mermaid Lagoon when he saw Ariel practicing with her costume’s tail piece. Even though it had taken him a few meetings to realize that she wasn’t a real mermaid, but he had been smitten from first sight. He found himself gravitating towards the lagoon whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He attempted to speak to her on several occasions but, the moment she turned that smile on him he went red and mute and more often than not ran away. It was a tragic story of unspoken love…and to this day he got the oddest arousal upon seeing a mermaid.

He didn’t know he could get withdrawal from not seeing someone he had no real relationship with past being acquainted, but when he didn’t make it to his father’s on Tuesday, he felt the absence acutely. It couldn’t be his father; he’d gone years without speaking to the bastard. It had to be the help’s presence he was in such dire need of.

He rang the doorbell, more for Isabelle’s benefit than Malcolm’s. He tried a second time but still didn’t get a response, so he went around to the back. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Isabelle drifting on top of a floating lounge in the pool, one foot lazily dipping into the water. Her eyes were dedicated to a thin screen in her hands, allowing him to take in the sight. The two piece was far from distasteful but it was more skin than he had ever seen of her, the dark blue contrasting her pale skin and complimenting her dark locks. He knew he should look away, try to pretend he wasn’t acting like some peeping tom… But he also wanted to take in the moment while it lasted.

Isabelle wasn’t one for sunbathing, as her pale complexion attested to. But even she couldn’t ignore the allure of the pool while the boss was away and a chance to try out her latest bribe gift; an e-reader. It wasn’t the same as an ink-and-paper book, but this was apparently far more waterproof. She didn’t have the courage to test that feature yet.

She felt eyes on her and was about to tell off Malcolm for being a sick old man, but when she looked up she saw Rumford. Heat rushed through her at the way he was looking at her, coveting her like a forbidden treat. She smiled at the way he tried to hide it, glancing off to the side and clearing his throat in the most painfully obvious display of feigning casualness she’d ever seen. She showed him how she felt about his acting skills by giggling.

"Hello, Mr. Gold."

"Hello, Miss French."

"You know you can call me Isabelle, right?"

"Is that what you’d like me to call you?"

Isabelle grinned, setting the e-reader down, “Yes, I would like that very much.”

The way she said that made Mr. Gold feel like he was unintentionally (subconsciously intentionally?) flirting with her. He watched as she carefully sat up and swung her legs off, submerging them in the pool, “Your father’s at church right now, but he should be back in an hour or so.”

Right, he was supposed to be visiting his father. …wait a minute… “Did you say…church?” He repeated, the word foreign on his tongue.

Isabelle grinned, “Every Sunday, a devoted Catholic.”

"… _Catholic_?” Gold was pretty sure his father only called upon God when he wanted something to be damned, and he couldn’t see the man who wouldn’t move his arse if it were on fire going faithfully to mass.

She giggled, “He found religion.” She claimed, slipping into the water and breast-stroking towards him. Mr. Gold took a few casual steps closer.

Isabelle rested her arms on the ledge, balancing on the tip of her toes. Her eyes were almost as blue as the water, Mr. Gold thought absently.

She hated herself for the cliche, but all she could think of when she saw Rumford’s eyes were that they were the same color as melted chocolate, warm and spreading through her, “Aren’t you roasting in that suit?” She heard herself saying.

Her courage was rewarded with a smile and a soft laugh, “I’m used to it.”

"Still… I don’t think it would be too comfortable," she tilted her head to the side, "…you should change, get some trunks on and join me."

It wasn’t his adolescent fantasy verbatim, but it was damn close. And the way she was biting her lip was borderline sinful. He found himself crouching down, lured by her essence, despite knowing that this was exactly how sailors found themselves drowned.

"I don’t have my swim trunks on me," he informed her.

"Borrow your father’s," she suggested.

"That’s disgusting, I don’t know what he’s done in them."

Isabelle rose slightly, “Take a few layers off, then.”

He leaned forward, on the balls of his toes now and his voice a soft murmur, “I won’t have any dry clothes, then.”

Logically she should point out that he could probably find something in the house to put on… But instead a husky whisper came out, coming out far more serious than she intended, “Or…you could skinny dip.”

Caught off-balance both figuratively and literally, Mr. Gold fell headfirst into the pool.

Before he could fully register that he was in the water arms wrapped around him, pulling him up. He coughed and sputtered while the arms squeezed around him, cradling him.

"Are you alright?"

Mr. Gold floated there, completely drenched. Isabelle was holding him, staring at him in as much shock as he was staring at her in. He could barely find the air to speak, and not just because of the fact he had gone under without being prepared.

"…I am."

III

The Cathedral of Saint Monica wasn’t one of the older churches in the area, but that didn’t mean the convent was any less devoted, especially the mother superior. The younger nuns often joked about the strictness of their mother and wondered what went on behind her dark eyes. Most were convinced she truly thought nothing beyond the church and the word of God.

Mother Superior was just leaving a budgeting meeting when Sister Agnes ran up to her, looking dismayed.

"What is it, my child?"

"It’s Sister Astrid…she was trying to help…"

Mother Superior frowned, “Trying to help how?” The young sister’s heart was in the right place but unfortunately she was a bit…accident prone.

Sister Agnes grimaced, “…she spoke to _him_.”

Malcolm sat patiently in the confession but he did not hear anything from the other side of the partition… Actually all he heard was that other girl sobbing somewhere in the pews. Wasn’t his fault he needed to make some explicit confessions that her allegedly virgin ears weren’t prepared for.

Finally, he heard the other door open, then slam shut. He grinned to himself.

"Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned."

"That’s very apparent," she hissed. She was so cute when she was angry, "I _thought_ we had an agreement that you speak only to me about your…sins.”

"You were late. Thought you stood me up."

"This isn’t a date, this is a duty for God."

"Whatever you want to call it. Your line."

She sighed, “May God the father of all mercies be with you. What is it, my child?”

"Thanks. Now I was here last week and I’ve gotta say it’s the usual stuff; drank too much, but I am weaning off the pornography and out-of-wedlock sexual relations."

"Well that’s progress."

"Eh, I still choked my chicken the same amount, so I figure it’s not real progress." He gave a harsh laugh before his voice softened, "You’re all I need to get off, yanno… I think about you all the time."

Mother Superior had heard this confession in all its variations every week for the past several months, and yet color still rose to her cheeks. She leaned back, closing her eyes and preparing to listen to the explicit details of what exactly he wanted to do to her.

"…there’s this other thing too, not sure if it’s a sin or not."

Mother Superior’s eyelids fluttered open and she turned her head towards his voice, “Yes?”

She heard him shift on his bench, “I’m…trying to get my maid to bang my son.” He must’ve sensed how wide her eyes had gotten because he was quick to defend himself, “It’s consensual…out of wedlock but you should see the way these two eyefuck each other, she’s gonna get pregnant just from that. They just…need a little push.”

She considered his confession; it gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “original sin”, “…I think you have to ask yourself why you’re doing this.”

She was caught off guard by the vulnerability of his voice when he answered, “…I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to live…and I can’t die knowing he’s alone.”


End file.
